Beautiful Insanity
by Rosie5
Summary: After an inevitable run in with the Dark Lord, Harry is revealed an alternative truth, that is both horrifying and startlingly wonderful. But as reality and fantasy collide, Harry is left with a choice that will change his life.
1. A Lethargy Complete

**A/N: **Hello all, this is a new fic set just after OOTP. Those of you who read Marked may view this as a kind of precursor to the story, or a prequel if you prefer. It's just an idea I had that fit in very well within the timeframe.

**Summary:**

After the Ministry fiasco, everyone now believes Harry's story. But this is of little comfort to him; Harry feels betrayed, lonely and is finding it incredibly hard to deal with Sirius's death. However, after an inevitable run in with the Dark Lord, Harry is revealed an alternative truth, that is both horrifying and startlingly wonderful. A rollercoaster of events begin to unravel as reality and fantasy collide …

* * *

**Beautiful Insanity**

**Chapter 1 **

**A Lethargy Complete**

A boy of sixteen with black, untidy hair lay on his stomach by a glistening lake. The September sunshine was holding nicely, lulling its worshipers into a false sense of security before the autumnal rains and winds inevitably began to batter the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry Potter did not wish to rise from this place. It was peaceful here, and calm; nothing like the year he had endured prior to this one. They had all thought him mad, unstable, and unbalanced. And now that the truth had finally come out, every single person wanted to jump on the bandwagon; everyone wanted to reassure him that they knew he had been telling the truth all along …

But the truth had come at a heavy price. Harry found it impossible to not inextricably link the subjects of public opinion, and Sirius's death. True, if he had not gone to the Ministry that night and forced Voldemort to show himself in front of the Minister and his Aurors, then nobody would have believed him, still. But it was also true that Sirius would not have died. It was an unfeasible task to separate the two incidents. Even after Dumbledore's explanation last term, he could not escape the fact that it was his fault.

Harry heard footsteps crunching on the newly fallen leaves behind him and turned to see Hermione Granger walking towards him. She smiled and pushed her thick brown hair from her eyes.

"Ron said you might be out here," she said sitting down next to him. "Have you had any dinner?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not really hungry," he replied truthfully. Lately, he seemed to have lost his appetite.

"You really should eat something, Harry, keep up your strength."

"What for?" Harry asked, not looking at her and instead fixing his gaze on one of the lazy tentacles of the giant squid in the middle of the lake.

Hermione paused. "Oh, I don't know … Snape's lesson tomorrow for starters, I suppose," she said with a grim smile, but when Harry didn't react, it fell from her face.

"Look, I'm not here to fetch you, I just wanted to see that you were OK."

Harry looked at her sideways.

"Well, alright, not OK. But … you know what I mean."

Harry nodded. "I know. I'm just … I thought that telling you and Ron about the Prophecy would have lifted a weight, but it hasn't."

Harry had told both Ron and Hermione, and no one else, about the Prophecy the day that they had all boarded the Hogwarts express. True enough, he had had time to tell them before this when he had spent some time with them at the Burrow before school began, but he had not been able to find the words: it was a hard feat to tell his closest friends that his life must include, or end in, murder.

"I'm glad you did, Harry. And so is Ron. It means that you trust us … and well, you've always thought to yourself that it would end like that, haven't you? I mean, perhaps not quite so ... _specifically_, but I mean … you do _want _to face him, don't you?"

Harry did not answer her. Yes, he wanted Voldemort to be punished for everything that had happened and yes, if he had the chance to do it himself he would take it, but at that moment, Harry wished that he was anyone else in the world. How wonderful it would be to not have to worry about such things; things that no child should ever have to entertain. How wonderful it would be to escape the blight of being someone so … famous.

"I think I might grab some dinner after all," he said swiftly and rose to his feet. "See you in a bit."

And he left her sitting by the lake in the thin sunshine, about to disappear over the hills.

- - - - - -

"Harry … Professor Snape's just told me … Dumbledore wants to see you in his office."

Harry looked up from his uneaten plate of roast chicken and potatoes to see Neville Longbottom standing next to him, a piece of paper in his hand.

Harry nodded and pushed his plate away from him, giving it up.

"Thanks Neville," he replied as a smile passed over Neville's round face.

Harry couldn't imagine why Dumbledore would want to see him so soon, first day back from the summer. Could it have something to do with the prophecy? Harry couldn't muster much sense of curiosity; anything that the Headmaster told him would only be to do with Voldemort and the end of either of their lives, and Harry didn't want to think about that just now.

He sighed deeply and stood up from the bench where he had sat alone. As he walked down past other students, they peered at him curiously, some with open awe. Girls smirked suggestively as he walked, but Harry ignored them as best he could.

The stone gargoyles outside Dumbledore's office did not even ask for the password; it was as though they had known he would be coming and swung aside so that he could enter.

Harry ascended the many steps that it took to reach the office, but paused suddenly as he had just raised his hand to the knocker; he could hear voices, more specifically Dumbledore in deep conversation with Professor McGonagall.

"… absolutely sure about this?"

Harry strained his ears; they were talking quite faintly.

"Unfortunately I am, Minerva. My source is wholly reliable."

Dumbledore sounded sad and tired. What were they talking about? Harry wondered. Had it something to do with whatever Dumbledore had summoned him for?

"Well, what is to be done?"

"Nothing. Well, nothing radical, that is. Harry will simply have to be very careful."

A shiver ran down Harry's spine. So they _were _talking about him. Of course, people talking about him … it must be Tuesday.

"Careful? I think he needs to be a little more than _careful, _Albus, his life is at stake –"

"- No more than it ever has been before. This information, while alarming, only means that we will have to take extra precaution."

"But if He Who Must Not Be Named is planning something 'worse than death' – is that what you said?"

"That is what my source informed me. I cannot imagine what Voldemort is up to, but Harry has always been subject to his plots and has come through every time."

"But Albus … he is only a child …"

Harry felt anger hit the pit of his stomach. So he was only a child … but he had been marked with the darkest fate anyone could ever fear and yet they expected him to bear both sides. It was not fair.

In that moment, they stopped talking. Perhaps Dumbledore could sense that there was someone outside the door, and in any case Harry thought it best to knock straight away so they did not think that he had been listening.

"Enter," came Dumbledore's voice, a little more alert than it had been when he had been talking to McGonagall.

Harry pushed the door open.

"Ah. Harry, do sit down."

Harry moved awkwardly past Professor McGonagall, whose brows had knitted together as he had come into the room.

"I shall leave you then, Headmaster," she said, inclining her head slightly towards Harry as she moved towards the door.

Harry looked back at Dumbledore, who was surveying him closely through his half-moon glasses.

"So, Harry. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," Harry answered uncomfortably. "Professor … is there anything wrong?"

A shadow passed Dumbledore's blue eyes as Harry spoke, but it vanished again almost immediately.

"Wrong? No, Harry. I merely called you here to see how you are coping being back in a … less than private environment. I know how much the school is buzzing with talk of you and your return."

Harry nodded. So this was why Dumbledore wanted to talk to him. Did he think that Harry was just a child too? Unable to cope with everything?

"I will reiterate that no one, except yourself, your two best friends, and I, know anything about the prophecy. This is a situation which I hope you will agree needs to remain the same."

"I haven't told anyone about it, if that's what you mean," Harry said a little defensively. "Sir," he added to keep the tone polite.

"No, Harry I am sure that you haven't. It is only for your own safety and everyone else's. However, I know how hard it must be with people firing questions at you from left, right and centre."

Harry nodded again, feeling that there was nothing much to say on the subject.

"Permit me to say that I also think you are handling Sirius's death admirably," Dumbledore said a little more quietly.

Every time someone mentioned his Godfather's name, Harry felt as though someone was squeezing his heart in an iron vice. He did not think he could stand talking to Dumbledore about Sirius, especially when some anger still partly remained at the older man for what had happened.

"Thank you," Harry said shortly.

"I am sure that you prefer not to talk about it in any depth just yet, but I believe that will change. Indeed, it may do you some good to speak to your friends about it."

"Perhaps," Harry conceded. Either way, he did not wish to pursue the subject any further at this point.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Harry shifted his weight in the chair.

"Please know, Harry, that you may speak to me about anything. I will not snub you, nor keep anything from you. I know that what has happened recently is bound to have affected you deeply, and I wish that I could make it disappear, but alas there are even some magics that I cannot perform."

Harry looked at Dumbledore. "You'd tell me everything, sir?" he asked, the faintest amount of accusation in his tone though it was light and pleasant.

"Yes."

"Is there anything I should know now?"

Dumbledore paused and looked at Harry deeply, who felt as though he were being x-rayed.

"Only what you already know, Harry. That the prophecy means you have many difficult trials ahead and that you, of all people need to exert extreme caution. This aside, I also wish for you to be able to have as normal an education as possible. It is what your parents would have wanted, I am sure."

Harry said nothing. He knew Dumbledore was keeping something from him, but he couldn't tell why. There was a long pause, which neither of them broke for a while. Eventually, Dumbledore spoke.

"Well, Harry, I will let you get off to bed. The purpose of this meeting was merely to reassure you that you may come to me at any time with any questions that you may have, about anything. And also to assure you that you do not have to struggle through this year alone."

Harry tried to give a smile, but it came out as something of a grimace.

"You may go."

Harry rose from his chair and faced Dumbledore for a few seconds.

"Goodnight, sir."

Dumbledore watched him go with a deep sense of foreboding. He could tell that Harry was still angry, that he was definitely more scared than he was letting on, and also that Sirius's death was continuing to plague him. Moreover, with what he had been informed of earlier, none of these factors would help him in the least.

- - - - -

"Permission slips, please!" cried Professor McGonagall.

It was a week later and the first Hogsmead trip was upon the students. The weather had become steadily colder as they moved further into September, but a surprising number of students wanted to go.

Harry hurried forwards with Ron and Hermione, hoping that McGonagall wouldn't see him, but –

"Potter, I said _no._"

"But I've got my slip here, Professor, look."

Harry waved the signed slip that Sirius had given him before he had died. It was still valid, but McGonagall's lips were dangerously narrowed.

"I know you have a slip, Potter, but the Headmaster has said that you are _not _to go."

"Why?" Harry said argumentatively. "Come on, Professor, I need a break."

It was true; this last week had felt in comparison like several months with people's eyes following him everywhere he went, renewed mutterings, hypocritical sermons from students who wanted to be his best friends now … he was already sick of it.

"No, Potter. That is my final word. Kindly make yourself useful elsewhere!"

And she turned her back on him. Harry shook his head in frustration and stormed off as Ron and Hermione stared guiltily after him.

"Harry … we won't be there long, I mean there's not much to do –"

"Hey, I want to go to Honeydukes!" Ron said indignantly.

"Ron … shut up."

Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him angrily away, hissing something about being tactless. Harry watched them go regretfully. It would have been so nice to get away from prying eyes and fake fawning students. They all clearly thought that he couldn't handle something. In frustration, he kicked out at a suit of armour on his way back past the third floor, but the only outcome of this was a throbbing toe.

Harry sat down on the edge of a stone step, foot still sore. There was something that Dumbledore wasn't telling him; he was sure of that. He remembered McGonagall's words … _worse than death …_Harry snorted in disbelief to himself. Like there's something worse to happen to me than what already has, he thought savagely.

As this thought passed through his mind, Harry turned and realised exactly where he was. Directly behind him was the statue of the one eyed witch. A recklessness passed through him; the corridor was deserted and most of the students were at Hogsmead … all he had to do was stay hidden and he'd get away with it … a whole afternoon with just him and Ron and Hermione, on their own, no one snooping around …

Harry stood up from the step and raced up to the common room, where his invisibility cloak was residing under his pillow.

- - - - -

He had forgotten how long the passageway to Honeydukes was. Within minutes, his back hurt from stopping so low as not to hit his head on the rough ceiling above; he had grown quite a bit over the summer. Eventually, after what seemed like an age, he reached the cellar trap door and pushed it open. There was no one around.

Climbing the stairs up to the main shop, Harry cautiously threw the cloak around his shoulders and went through the door. It was packed with younger Hogwarts students, some of whom had probably not been here before, as the third years had just that week been allowed to come on the trip. Harry spotted Ron and Hermione after a minute's searching, hovering over by the chocolate barrels.

"Can't you just make your mind up?" he heard Hermione say in an exasperated tone.

"You can't rush the picking of good chocolate, Hermione," Ron replied. "Be nice to me and I might give you some."

"And why would I want you to do that?"

"Come on, every girl wants a bit of Ron's chocolate."

Hermione smacked the back of Ron's head with her glove, but there was a smile playing about her lips.

Harry waited for them to pay and followed them out into the colder air.

"Hello," he whispered when he was alongside them.

Hermione gave a little scream.

"Harry! What on earth are you –?"

"Ha! This is brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "Now you can come to the Shrieking Shack with us!"

"It is _not _brilliant, Ron, Harry you might be seen! Think how much trouble you'll be in if …"

"Oh, lighten up will you?" Harry muttered. "I won't be seen, I've got my cloak on haven't I? Besides, I need a break."

Hermione did not answer. She clearly thought that Harry was being reckless, but Harry didn't care. He had not been properly outside for what felt like months, even though it was not actually that long. The freedom under the cloak was wonderful; no one was looking at him, no one was whispering excitedly. It really was like being someone else for a few hours.

By the time they reached the Shrieking Shack, there was no one around for a good mile. Apparently Hogsmead held more exciting ventures for younger students not interested in an old shack, that was _not _haunted at all, as Harry, Ron and Hermione knew only too well.

"I bet you could take that off for a bit, Harry," Ron said, looking at completely the wrong place where he thought that Harry was standing. "There's no one around."

"No, Harry you really mustn't …"

But Harry pulled the cloak off and inhaled deeply. "Don't panic … I can sling it on again if I need to."

"So does it feel good to be out in the open with nobody telling you how much they want you to autograph their underwear?" said Ron with a faint smirk.

"Yes," Harry answered truthfully, though he resented Ron's amusement. How nice it would be to find the whole thing funny and to laugh it off, but he couldn't. Betrayal sat heavy in his chest from all angles, and it was a hard burden to shift.

"I suppose … even though it's a really foolhardy thing to do … I'm glad you're here, Harry," Hermione conceded. "I mean … we haven't really spent much time since …"

Her voice trailed off. Harry knew that she was referring to the night in question when Sirius had died and when the world had been alerted to Harry's persistent truth.

"You can talk to us, you know," she added quietly when Harry did not respond. "I know we can't know what it's like to … well, you know. But we're trying to …"

"It's not that I don't want to," Harry said quickly, not really aware of what was coming out of his mouth. "I just … I don't know what to say."

There was a silence which followed this heavy pronunciation – and Hermione gasped.

"Oh my –"

Harry immediately spun around quickly to where she was pointing a shaking hand and was instantly sent sprawling by a largely built man with his sleeves rolled up, who had just shot out suddenly from the dense thicket of wood behind them.

Harry yelled as all the breath was knocked out of him and lost his wand. Hermione screamed, and Ron got hastily to his feet, his face panicked.

As an arm enclosed around his neck, Harry looked down to see that upon the burly arm that held him fast was the Dark Mark, burned into his attacker's skin. A Death Eater, he thought savagely.

Hermione made to raise her wand but was immobilised by a spell that shot out of nowhere; another Death Eater that none of them recognised was beginning to fire spells at Ron and Hermione …

Harry struggled against the strength of the attacker and started to choke … but the man released him suddenly, as though Harry were too hot to hold onto. An electrical charge seemed to have surged through his body as his head gave a particularly nasty throb. As Harry scrabbled for his wand, his fingers closed uselessly on twigs and leaves; he couldn't find it!

Within moments the Death Eater had him again, and Harry was unable to move against the enormous strength of the man. He watched as his attacker raised his wand and advanced it towards his head … _he doesn't even have the guts to do it himself, _Harry said to himself, thinking about Voldemort. He could hear Ron shouting as he exchanged blows with the other Death Eater and Hermione shouting for help … but there had been no one around.

The wand tip got closer and closer … after an agonising few seconds it made contact with the side of Harry's neck, and burned.

Harry cried out, feeling as though something was stabbing him through … magic was pulsing through his body … it stung like nothing else had ever done … and then Harry felt as though his brain had turned upside down. He was not even aware that he was being held by the Death Eater … something flashed black and white in front of his eyes, and then –

A white, padded room. He was shrinking in the corner of two of the walls, and there were two men in front of him, advancing towards him with needles. The first man held Harry's arms and tried to subdue him, but Harry struggled violently against them.

"Be careful … you'll hurt yourself!" said the man who was holding his wrists.

"We're going to have to strap him down unless –"

The needle stabbed Harry in the neck and the concoction instantly worked its way through his system, rendering limbs useless and causing muscles to feel like lead. Harry went limp and sank against the wall as the two men, now having to both hold him up, shuffled him to a white sheeted bed with leather restraints clinking ominously down at the sides.

As soon as he was secured, the two men wiped their brows and exited through a padded door with a thick glass window, and locked it firmly behind them. They then exchanged looks of relief and uneasiness, and walked together down a sterile smelling corridor, passing catatonic patients in wheelchairs, protesting that they were not meant to be there.

- - - - -

* * *

**A/N: **"What the hell is going on?" I hear you cry. Well, read and review and I might just elaborate my friends!!!!

Rosie xxx


	2. Shattered Glass

**Beautiful Insanity**

**Chapter 2 **

**Shattered Glass**

**- - - - - **

Harry blinked and opened his eyes. He was still lying where he had fallen and there was no sign of the two Death Eaters who had attacked them all so viciously.

"Harry!" Hermione called from what seemed like a long way off.

Harry shook his head and sat up. It had felt _so_ real …

"Are you alright?" Ron asked anxiously as he and Hermione scurried over.

"Yeah … I think so," he replied, rubbing his neck unconsciously. "What happened?"

"Well those two guys –"

"– they were Death Eaters," Harry submitted, getting slowly to his feet. "I saw the mark on that man's arm."

Hermione's face was white. "Death Eaters, _here_?"

"Yeah, they just went for you, mate, and held me and Hermione back. I dunno why … but they just did. Did they do anything?"

"No … I mean, I don't think so." His neck tingled, but when he removed his hand from it there was no blood, no mark, no nothing.

"Harry … we need to get out of here, _now_," Hermione conceded fearfully. "I'm serious … Voldemort could come along at any moment … I _knew_ you shouldn't have come!"

"It's not Harry's fault, Hermione," Ron said, defending Harry. "He couldn't have guessed that You Know Who would choose today of all days …"

"That's what worries me," Hermione muttered distractedly. "Come on, put that cloak back on."

Harry nodded and threw the Invisibility Cloak back around his shoulders, his whole body aching from its latest contact with the frozen ground.

- - - - -

In a dark room sparingly furnished, the two Death Eaters that had made their way stealthily to Hogsmead that afternoon were to be found waiting with baited breath at the door of Lord Voldemort.

"Enter," came a high, cold voice from within. The nearest man, whose name was Cartwright, pushed the door with a shaking hand and went in, the other not far behind.

"Ah, Webb, Cartwright. I am glad to see you are both unscathed?"

"Yes, my Lord," said Cartwright, bowing as low as his bad back would permit him to. "Thank you for your concern."

Voldemort said nothing but examined his long thin fingers in the pale light from the cracks in the boarded window. When neither Death Eater offered any other words, Voldemort spoke, a slight irritation in his tone.

"I take it you were successful?"

"Oh, yes, my Lord," said Webb quickly. "We had little trouble in restraining the other two … and Cartwright here –"

"Yes, I did not doubt that you would be able to overcome those two whelps. It was Potter that I –"

"The boy put up little fight, sir," Cartwright said, cutting Voldemort off, and then looking rather sheepish. When Voldemort did not explode with anger however, he carried on. "You were very right to strike at this time, his defences were very low … it was not hard to –"

"– Well, your muscle had to be of _some_ use, I suppose, as your brains count for little else. Very well, you have both been of good service."

The two Death Eaters glanced at each other with obvious pride and then tried to not look too pleased with themselves.

"I want bodies on watch. I want you to report back to me with anything unusual that you see. Hard though it may be to get to Potter directly, this may well tip the balance."

Voldemort traced his mouth with the tip of a long finger.

"Station Malfoy on it, too. I do not want _any _mistakes."

The possibility of Voldemort's wrath if they failed was enough to drive away the initial pride in their excursion.

"As you wish, my Lord," Webb said, still bowing.

"You may go."

And both Death Eaters left Voldemort sitting alone in his high backed chair, the thin slivers of light illuminating the smile that was slowly creasing his gaunt, twisted face.

- - - - -

The next day, Harry was sitting in a dreary stupor in Snape's classroom. Midday on a Monday morning; their worst day with double Potions followed by double Transfiguration. On their first day back, Harry and Ron had simultaneously glanced at their timetables and groaned. The fumes from the numerous cauldrons around him did nothing to lift his lethargy and only added to this strange fatigue.

Harry could not help dwelling on what had happened the day before. What on earth had occurred when he had been hit with whatever spell those Death Eaters fired on him? Perhaps it had been his own brain, overworked with everything that had happened recently. Either way, telling a teacher would have gotten him into serious trouble. Then again, ought Dumbledore to know that they had gotten into Hogsmead unnoticed … _Yes, _was the obvious answer plaguing his conscience.

"After the mandarin roots have been correctly shredded, you must add a single drop of Monksgane Juice, and I mean a _single _drop for all of you with limited listening powers, because any more will render the potion useless. Understand?"

There was a general murmur of assent, but Harry was far from comprehending what Snape was going on about.

"Now, I want you all to listen carefully to what I am about to tell you about the properties of Monksgane Juice, because your assignment will be directly on this. Any of you who do not hand it in on the correct date will face detention."

Harry rubbed his eyes with his hands ... why was he so tired? The fumes were overpowering; the Monksgane Juice smelled like rotting eggs and caught in the back of his throat. Snape's voice was droning on and on in the same monotonous tone … yet Harry was conveniently right at the back of the classroom. If he could just close his eyes for a few moments, Snape would not see him … it would be so nice to just rest for a few moments …

There was a flash of light, and Harry jerked suddenly and violently upwards, thinking he had knocked over his own cauldron with his elbow, but then he realised with a sickening jolt that he was no longer in the dungeon with Snape and the rest of the class.

Instead, he was sitting on a cold, metallic chair with his legs crossed underneath him, bent over double, as though he did not want to look up. As he raised his head slowly and fearfully, he smelled that horrible sterile smell again, reminding him of old and sickly people. The room he was in was not dark and stone walled and cold, as the Potions dungeon was, but bright and harshly lit with an odd and inescapable humidity. The walls were padded … and Harry realised in the back of his mind that he had been here before.

"Harry …"

Harry whipped his head around, his heart hammering. There, directly in front of him as though she had been all along, stood a plump nurse in a white uniform; white like the walls, and she was holding a small tin container. Her expression was kindly, but there was something else in it too, like pity.

"Come on, Harry …"

Harry stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back against the wall with a loud clang and moving as far into the corner as he could, away from her.

"What …?" he muttered, completely confused and terrified.

The woman again moved in front of him. "It's time for your drugs now, Harry … come on, you have to take them …"

"No, I don't –"

There was another flash; he blinked, and Snape was standing directly in front of him. The white, hospitalised room had vanished along with that awful smell and he was back again in the dungeon room with a number of classmates peering at him strangely. What was more, Snape was glaring at him with an expression that was less than pleased.

"What?" Harry ventured, wiping his brow and looking back at Snape confusedly.

"I said, Potter, that if I didn't know better that you were already a dunce with serious concentration issues I would think that you were on some sort of Muggle drugs."

Draco Malfoy guffawed stupidly from behind Harry. Harry turned his head and his eyes found Hermione, who was watching him with an anxious expression, her face a mask of worry.

"I'm … I'm sorry," Harry said detachedly, his mind still all over the place and he felt faintly sick. "I just … I don't know."

"I know you don't, Potter, which is why it will not be a surprise to anyone in this room that you have just earned yourself a detention, Thursday evening, 6 pm. And if I catch you snoozing in my lesson again, you will be very sorry indeed. Do I make myself plain?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, rubbing his head.

"I beg your pardon?" Snape snapped, his tone dangerously low.

"Yes, sir," Harry altered.

Snape stared at Harry for a few seconds, his expression still angry but there was something curious about his gaze. Harry looked away, his brain still buzzing and his stomach lurching.

- - - - -

"What was all that about, in Snape's lesson?" Hermione asked Harry later that day as they sat in the great hall eating their dinner.

"Oh, it was nothing. I just didn't … sleep very well last night," he said, half-truthfully.

Hermione continued to watch him, unconvinced. Harry was not about to tell her and a hall full of eagerly listening students that his mind kept dragging him back to somewhere that seemed horribly like a mental asylum. That was just what they would want to hear; that the boy who they all now believed really was a nutcase.

_It's just lack of sleep, and an overactive brain, _Harry told himself firmly, shovelling hot mashed potato into his mouth. _People have been saying you're mad for ages … it's no wonder your mind's making things up …_ The more he said this to himself over and over the more plausible an explanation it became.

"Don't look at me like that, Hermione, I'm fine," Harry snapped at her, as she was still watching him.

"I know," Hermione said hurriedly. "I was just thinking that maybe … maybe we should tell the teachers or Dumbledore about what happened yesterday."

"Are you mad?" Ron said through his roast beef. "Harry would never be allowed to leave the castle again! Besides, he's alright isn't he?"

Hermione looked at Harry again, who avoided her gaze determinedly.

"I suppose," Hermione said slowly, her fork still hanging in mid-air. "It's just … I think the Order should know if Death Eaters are attacking Harry, it could be important."

"Death Eaters have been attacking me for most of my life, Hermione," Harry replied. "Look, if we see anything unusual again, we'll all go straight to Dumbledore. How's that?"

Hermione chewed her lip and then looked away. "OK, then."

Ron at least appeared satisfied, as he was stuffing his face heartily with helpings of dessert. Harry looked unappetisingly at the rhubarb crumble in front of him, but he didn't feel hungry. All he felt was an enormous sense of unease settling in his chest.

- - - - -

"Mr Weasley, that is the most pathetic attempt I have ever seen at a Locomotion Spell. You will practice tonight and tomorrow before our next lesson on Friday, do I make myself plain?"

"Yes, Professor," Ron said dully, his wand falling limply to his side. Harry had been fairly successful in the charm and had managed to levitate his paper weight around the room for a good minute before it smashed. Hermione of course had been quickest in mastering the charm and had progressed to heavier objects, receiving no homework.

The uneasy sick feeling that Harry had experienced with such force the day before had lessened slightly. He had slept better that night, and had had no bizarre visions or nightmarish flashes of anything except Snape's detention the following day.

"Can't believe we've only been back one week and you've already got a detention with Snape," Ron said to Harry as they walked back from Transfiguration that day.

"Yeah, well," Harry answered distractedly as they passed Professor Flitwick trying to open a door from behind an enormous stack of papers that were dwarfing him.

"Can't wait to try out for Quidditch this year," Ron went on as he opened the door for Flitwick to a squeaky "thank you!"

"Yeah, you'd be really good," Harry said. Truth be told, he hadn't really given Quidditch a second thought since he had been back; or indeed since the last term. It seemed like it belonged to a former life where he laughed and enjoyed being the best at something. Nowadays, other things seemed so much more important. _Like whether or not I'll live or die, _he thought negatively.

Harry's negative mood persisted right through to the next day and he was to be found walking dispiritedly down the steps to Snape's dungeon the following evening for his detention. He had not had any dinner; for some reason it felt as though there were snakes inside his stomach.

As he went to knock on the thick, oaken door, Harry paused to remember why it was that he had earned himself this detention. Thankfully, he had since had nothing to resemble a flash or a nightmare, but he still found himself oddly sleepy and lethargic and he was more than certain that this detention would leave him feeling rested and ready for the next day.

"Come in," Snape said from within. Harry pushed the door.

Snape's office was no different from the year before when Harry had been in it. He could see the store cupboard at the back that he had once been accused of robbing (not without reason) and grotesque objects still swirled in their liquids in glass jars upon the shelves next to Snape's desk.

"Do you know why you are here, Potter?" Snape said pointedly.

"Yes," Harry replied stiffly.

"Remind me why you are here, Potter."

Harry could tell that Snape was going to enjoy this; he had not been able to torment and insult him for the entire summer and now there was no one else to hear what the Potions master said.

"Because I wasn't concentrating," Harry muttered, glaring at a dead eel above Snape's head.

"Correct. Fittingly enough, I have a job for you that requires a great deal of concentration. That is, if you do not wish to burn your hands."

Harry looked back at Snape apprehensively with raised eyebrows. Snape's eyes were glittering.

"We recently received an order of Hydrochloric Acid from Pettifer Potions. Unfortunately they are in the wrong jars. Fortunately, I have the correct jars that they need to be in. There are six hundred jars, Potter."

Harry could not mask the exasperation in his face or his sigh as Snape motioned with his hand towards the cupboard and the jars lined up neatly upon the table in front of it.

"I suggest you make a start if you do not wish to be here all night."

With a thought of Hermione's scandalised expression if she knew what Snape was making him do, Harry threw his bag down hard and walked towards the store cupboard.

"I hope that this will teach you that concentration is paramount in my lessons, Potter. And if you stop concentrating … well, it shall simply serve as a reminder."

It was indeed tedious work, not helped by the fact that the jars were so full to the brim that one slip meant the liquid slid down the side and burned Harry's hand. He did not let any cry of pain escape his lips, however, despite one time when his entire thumb had been deluged in the liquid. He would not give Snape the satisfaction.

Before long, his neck began to ache from its prolonged downward angle. The scratching of Snape's quill became like Chinese water torture for Harry as he poured and poured the clear liquid into the right containers. Once or twice, he caught himself wondering whether or not Snape had made the entire thing up and that the jars were in fact correct in the first place, and that this was just an excuse to make Harry as uncomfortable as possible.

_Evil man, _Harry thought savagely. He longed to lie down and to stretch all his muscles out; it felt as though he had been here for at least four hours. Perhaps Snape had bewitched the clocks to make the time go even slower … Harry would not have put it past him.

As he sat there, Harry's attention drifted to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Why had they been there in Hogsmead, and what were they doing? _Probably trying to kill me, _Harry thought. _Wouldn't be the first time. _He had never wanted more than in that particular moment for it all to be over, one way or another. He knew that this would shock Ron and Hermione, and so he never mentioned it to them, but all the same, dead or alive, it would be over …

"_Ouch!" _Harry hissed.

Having lost himself in his thoughts, his whole hand had slipped and the jar had smashed on the table. He could feel the acid burning though his robes and settling painfully into his skin.

"Potter!" Snape bellowed, throwing down his quill. "Clearly your concentration needs another few hours work! You will stay here until they are all done!"

Harry stared at Snape with incredulity. "Are you serious?"

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. "Do _not _speak to me like that, Potter. I am perfectly serious. You will remain here until they are _all _done. Even when your limbs depend on it you cannot concentrate for any length of time!"

"I've been here doing this for four hours!" Harry shot back, his temper rising as the pain in his hands increased.

"You will do as you are told!" Snape spat, matching his volume. "Perhaps you believe, as your arrogant waste of a father did, that the rules do not apply to you? Well you shall be sorely disappointed because –"

"– he was _not _a waste," Harry said quietly, his voice shaking with anger. "Don't you talk about him like that."

Snape sneered cruelly. "And yet … you have even seen for your own eyes his cruelty in the Pensieve when you superciliously invaded my thoughts! You do not have any right to defend a man whom you never knew, Potter, let alone build up fantasies of heroism and bravery ..."

Harry opened his mouth to shout back, knowing he was on very thin ice and not caring at all, but a sudden pain in his head lurched down into his stomach and he was forced to close his eyes for a moment. Snape was still pressing his advantage, apparently pleased that Harry had cracked.

"Now your father may have gotten away with rule breaking, but _you _…"

Harry sat down clumsily, having gotten to his feet when the jar smashed, and thought he was going to be sick. He put his head in his hands and doubled over, ignoring Snape.

"Get up! Do as you are told!"

But Harry could not. There was a flash of light and that horrible nausea coursing through his veins again.

"Potter?"

Harry shook his head, unable to speak for a moment. He wasn't even aware of the pain in his hands.

"Harry? Can you hear me?" It was a different voice.

Harry looked up. There it was – the place he thought was only in his overactive thoughts … but it was so real.

He was in a white room with that sterile smell again, pressed into the corner where two walls met with his knees drawn up into his chest. There was a bed in the centre of the room with wrist restraints hanging down by the sides … and right in front of him was a man, a man who he had never seen before. He looked like a doctor of some kind; the white coat hung around his shoulders and thin rimmed glasses were perched on the end of his nose. He was peering at Harry curiously, who returned his gaze in bewilderment.

"W – what is this?" Harry asked, breathing very quickly. He noticed that he wasn't even wearing school robes any more, but instead there was grey flannel clothing that hung limply off his skinny frame.

"Do you know where you are, Harry?" the doctor asked, his expression unchanged.

"Hogwarts …" Harry muttered, confused. His brain felt muddled and dysfunctional, but surely that was a question he could answer. He was in Hogwarts … he _knew _he was.

The doctor shook his head strongly and held tried to hold Harry's gaze.

"No, Harry, none of that is real. You're in a mental institution."

Harry stared at the doctor blankly and then looked at the pale floor, shaking his head, refusing to entertain this stupid nightmare …

"You've been here with us for just over five years now. Do you remember?"

"You're not real …" Harry whispered, still shaking his head. "I know where I am … I …"

"No, Harry. This _is _real … you've been here for five years. Do you remember?" the doctor repeated clearly.

Harry broke his gaze away from the floor and looked back at the doctor … except that it wasn't the doctor any more. It was Snape. And the dungeon had returned. Snape was staring at Harry with a very odd expression on his face.

"What the …" he muttered as Harry tried to take in his surroundings, swivelling his head. "Potter, what on earth is wrong?"

But as Harry's eyes returned to Snape, he wasn't Snape any more. The violent changes in scenery made Harry wretch and the man in front of him, who was now the doctor, reached out a hand towards him.

"It's OK, Harry … it's OK …"

Harry backed away as far as he could go, and reached the relative comfort of the cool, stone wall. He pressed his head into it for a few seconds, trying to get it to calm him, to jerk out of it …

"Look … look who's here, Harry!" the doctor said in a voice that one might have used with an overemotional child.

Harry slowly turned his head towards the doctor and the now open door, through which light was flooding in from outside.

There was a woman with red hair, standing framed in the doorway. Behind her was another person, a man with dark hair and glasses, his face filled with anguish.

"Harry?"

Harry stared in absolute shock, not believing it. It was impossible. He was dreaming.

"Welcome home, baby …" said the woman softly.

Harry felt tears prick his eyes.

"… mum?"

- - - - -


End file.
